


The Sentence

by moth2fic



Category: NYPD Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-20
Updated: 2007-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can an apparently homophobic officer overcome his prejudices and admit pleasure into his life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sentence

**Author's Note:**

> The characters beong to ABC. I am just playing with them.
> 
> Thanks to Kat_Lair for the beta.

Title: The Sentence

 

He was almost home and he was muttering between his teeth, hands clenched in his coat pockets, big head tense on the short bullish neck. This was NOT the best evening of his recent life. Not that there had been too many better ones.

He considered the deal he'd had from the universe. Try, try really hard to overcome serious faults like alcoholism and a filthy temper, and what did you get? Your son was killed. Your wife was killed, leaving you inexpertly fathering a toddler and wishing for the moon. Your partners, too, had a propensity for dying on you. And people all over the place insisted on misunderstanding you and . . .

The toddler was growing fast. Even harder to cope with than before. On your own, anyway.

This had started out as a carefree date. An oasis of fluff and pleasure in the grim desert of work. And she hadn't even stayed for a coffee. He had paid the bill trying to avoid the pitying eyes of the waiter.

Real men don't cry and real Polacks don't whine. He repeated his grandfather's mantra, so familiar in his childhood, as he reached the steps of his apartment building and squared his shoulders. Right, everything was hunky-dory and he'd better have a smile on his face by the time he opened the door.

He let himself in quietly. Theo ought to be asleep. Ought being the operative word. And John would be watching television, deep in some play or series, not expecting him home yet. He'd deliberately chosen John as tonight's sitter. It didn't seem fair to ask Katie when he was going out with a woman. See, he was even developing sensitivities. Much good they did him. He hung up his coat and scarf and went into the living room, the smile set like concrete on his face.

John looked up and took in the entire situation in a second. This was altogether too early for anyone to be home from a date. He schooled his features to an expression of polite interest and asked,  
'Had a good time?' turning down the volume on the television as he spoke. It was only CNN News, and would be repeated all night ad nauseam.

'Sure. Thanks for sitting - any problems?' Andy wasn't going to admit to a need for sympathy, let alone ask for it.

'None. We watched a children's film - a sci-fi thing where these kids found a spaceship in the woods. Then he went to bed like a lamb. You're home earlier than I expected.' He threw in the last sentence casually, giving an opening in case one was needed. He hated to see people hurting. And bottling things up.

'She had to go home. Something about her mother.' (And something about needing an excuse to cut short a date that wasn't going anywhere anyway).

'That's a shame. Are you seeing her again?'

'No. I am NOT seeing her again, if it's any business of yours.' He scowled and sat down heavily, then got up again and went to fill a glass with orange juice, which he drank as if it was brandy. John hesitated then pressed on.

'I'm sorry. I know you were looking forward to tonight. And I know it isn't my business but I don't like to see my friends unhappy.' Andy raised his eyebrows at the word friend and John felt a familiar curl of hurt in his chest.

'You're a good colleague - and a great baby-sitter. I didn't know we were friends.'

'Why? Because I'm gay?'

The words hung in the air. It was something never mentioned between them even though it was well known at work and even though John knew Andy had agonised before letting him sit for Theo.

'I don't suppose we have enough in common to be friends.' The mutter was almost an apology but not quite.

'Why are you so homophobic?'

'Homophobic? Me? I never allow prejudices of any kind to rule me. You know that. '

'All right, perhaps not actively homophobic, but definitely anti -gay. Totally. So much so that it makes me wonder if . . .'

'What? What does it make you wonder?' No rebuttal of the accusation.

'Well, you know what they say. Anyone who protests that much must be latent themselves.' He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Andy was spluttering, incoherent, red in the face. His glass of juice tilted and poured unheeded onto the carpet.

'Sorry. Didn't mean to offend you. But I've often wondered why you're so opposed. Did you have a bad experience some time or another?'

'Me? Experience? Gay experience?'

'No, I only meant, did someone upset you, or harass you, or something.'

'No.' He was calming down and looking at John as though he might be seeing a different species. 'No-one ever even approached me. Ever.' So that was it. He must have wanted - something, from someone - and been disappointed.

'No-one? I suppose they all thought you were so big and macho. Expected you to be the one calling the shots. In charge.'

There was another silence. Varied emotions flickered across Andy's face. John bit his lip and prayed he hadn't gone too far in his attempt to help, to heal.

'John, are you trying to tell me someone might have . . .? '

'Well, I'd have assumed you'd have been at least asked. You're very attractive, you know.' He said it quietly but very firmly. It was important that Andy should believe him. Even if he didn't like the idea. Silence again, while Andy digested the information. Turned it round in his mind. Tried it on for size.

'Are you - are you trying to say you - that - ?' The words wouldn't come out. John took pity on him.

'Yes, of course I fancy you. Always have. Always will. But don't worry about it. I'd never embarrass you. Never do anything about it. It's just a fact of life. Like me having blond hair and you being dark.' Andy's expression was one of shock, of disbelief, but not, strangely, of disgust or dislike.

'What on earth do you expect me . . .?' To DO about it hovered unspoken. And as if on cue, Theo padded into the room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

'Daddy. You're home. But John's still here.' Andy turned and swept the little boy into his arms.

'Daddy's home early, Theo, but you should be asleep. John's just going. John and Daddy were just . .. '

'Chatting,' John offered.

'What about?' Theo liked to be apprised of adult concerns.

'This and . . .'

'That.' John finished Andy's reply firmly and went for his coat. A sleepy Theo was probably the best barrier to further conversation Andy could have dreamed up. And all too real. Ready to leave, John dropped a featherlight kiss on the child's cheek, brushing Andy's arm with his own cheek as he did so. Then with a quick goodnight, he was gone.

'I LIKE John.' Theo was nothing if not definite in his opinions.

'I know, Theo.'

'Daddy, do YOU like John?' Andy considered. Children saw straight to the heart of the matter.

'Yes, Theo,' he murmured into his son's hair. 'Daddy likes John.'

ooooooooooooooooo

 

Monday got off to a slow start for a change. Maybe the weather had made people think twice about murdering each other. Maybe there were angels overhead. Whatever, the room was quiet and warm. Detectives caught up on paperwork or chatted about their weekends. Andy chose paperwork. He glanced up, under heavy lids, at John, who was at his receptionist desk but quite obviously immersed in a book.  
The paperwork lasted till mid-morning then Andy stretched and headed for the coffee room. Hesitated and spun on his heel and headed back. Stood by reception practising his lines in his head. They still came out awkwardly.

'Coffee time. Want to …? I thought maybe . . .I need to talk . . .' John looked up, surprised, then a slow smile spread from his eyes to his lips. He slid off his seat and put a card on his desk that said he'd be back in five. Did something to the phone system. Followed Andy and sat with a mug of coffee cradled in his long fingers, waiting.

'On Saturday . . .'

'Go on.'

'When you said . . .When I realised . . .'

'It can be helpful to finish the occasional sentence!' John teased gently. 'Subject, verb, object, full stop. That's all it takes!'

'I can . . .I mean . . .' Andy was blustering. His voice was rough with anxiety and John put him out of his misery.

'Did you want to take this further, Andy? I said I'd never do anything about it but if you actually want to, just tell me.' Why else would he be raising the subject again? It could have been buried and forgotten so easily.

'I wondered if . . .There's a restaurant down near my . . .If I can get Katie to sit . . .' John stared. He hadn't expected this. Hoped, of course. Wished. And it seemed there was a good fairy out there granting wishes.

'That would be great. Let me know if Katie can help.'

'She's usually . . . Maybe Saturday?' John nodded and felt himself blushing. This half arranged date was one he'd never thought to have. They finished their coffee in silence, both shy, neither knowing quite what to say next. Then one of the others came into the small room, his presence reminding them of where they were, and what time it was. John muttered something about needing to get back and Andy left too, intending to return to paperwork but finding an emergency waiting, grabbing his coat and his car keys, leaving hastily, glad to have something to break the mood and help him reach the next weekend with his sanity intact.

They spoke occasionally during the week. Normal interchange of information and daily pleasantries. Glanced at each other sometimes. Passed in the corridor or on the stairs with a quick intake of breath.

Katie was happy to have Theo on Saturday but wanted him overnight at her place. Had a longstanding arrangement with a friend. A girl friend, she made certain Andy knew, as if that made any difference. He booked the restaurant then told John.

'Saturday. All fixed if you're still . . .'

'Of course. Thank you. What time shall we meet?' Andy gave him the name of the restaurant and suggested seven o'clock. That would give them time to have a drink, well, for John to have a drink, before they ate. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Couldn't believe he'd found the nerve somewhere. Couldn't believe John had accepted the invitation. Couldn't believe what he wanted to do. What he intended to do.

And lost himself in a reverie until interrupted by a case and the need to focus on work instead of on the strange turn his social life was taking.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

John looked beautiful. Not the semi-smart clothes of the receptionist. Not the jeans and sweatshirt of the babysitter. Not tonight. He was wearing tight black pants and a silvery grey shirt in some heavy, matt fabric that hinted at luxury and romance. A soft black leather jacket was draped round his shoulders and his fair hair was gleaming.

Andy did a quick mental resume of his own dark suit and tie. Was almost afraid to look up, fearing to meet scorn. Instead, looked into warm blue eyes and was lost. He had no idea what they chose and ate. The meal passed in a dream. The waiter was asking if they wanted coffee and John was saying something softly.

'We could have coffee at my apartment if you want.' Andy nodded, paid quickly, overtipping in his rush to be on their way. Called a cab and let John take over, giving the address, watching the route, making last minute explanations to the driver. Then opening the heavy door to the apartment building and ushering Andy upstairs to a room full of pictures and light and comfortable seats. Brewing strong rich coffee and putting it on the low table. Switching on some music. Smiling at Andy's nerves. Sitting beside him on the settee, near enough to touch but not quite touching - yet.

He finished the drink rapidly, almost scalding his mouth. Anxious to start talking. To get to what he hoped was the purpose of the evening.

'John ….' Words were refusing to form coherent strings again. 'I want . . .'

'I know.' John laid a hand on his knee. That was enough. He grabbed him roughly, a drowning man clutching a lifebelt. The kisses were desperate, deep, long. When they surfaced he felt changed. The world had done some sort of backflip and he was no longer in the place he'd inhabited all his life so far. This new place looked good. He kissed him again. Gently, this time, just brushing his lips, lingering over them, and letting his hands trail down to the buttons of the shirt.

His fingers were clumsy but John helped, and soon he was kissing his shoulders, his chest, his nipples, drowning all over again in the unexpected pleasure. And in the acceptance.

'Andy, if you want to take this to its logical conclusion, we'd be more comfortable in bed.' John took his hand and led him to the bedroom, the touch of his fingers making sure the magic of the moment was never broken. Then turned to him, burying his head on the older man's shoulder with a sigh of contentment and anticipation rolled into one.

Andy fumbled with the unfamiliar belt. Needed help again. Stopped to admire and be amazed, before throwing John onto the bed, letting him finish removing his pants and his shoes himself, Watched him every second while he himself stripped, removing his inhibitions with the conventional clothes. Joined him on the bed. Trembling. Terrified. Aroused beyond belief.

They didn't need to talk. He took John's cock in his mouth as though he'd been doing this every night for years. Felt the strong, hard length between his lips, tasted the odd saltiness on his tongue, relaxed till John was pushing against the back of his throat, filling him. satisfying both of them with the pressure and the need and the newness of it. He found himself stroking John's arse, tentatively but longingly. Then determined fingers guided his into the cleft and imprisoned them there.

'You're . . .sure . . .?' He could speak again. John was lying heavily against him, his cock limp and his eyes hooded in the aftermath of orgasm. The answer was more pressure from the fingers. He could hardly believe it. He and Sylvia had done this. Called it their secret sex. It was his heaven, his nirvana. And John was willing? Not just willing, but apparently eager.

'But I need . . .we need . . .' John gestured to a drawer in the table by the bed. He rummaged and found lubricant and condoms. Still in the paper bag from the shop.

'You were expecting . . .?'

'Hoping. And you're still not using sentences!' John grinned and positioned himself on his back, his long legs easily resting on Andy's shoulders. It was somehow simple to open the tube, open the packet, ready them both. Andy made certain to be slow and gentle. Watched John's face for the slightest sign of pain or even discomfort. Felt a deep joy when he realised the other man was enjoying it as much as him. Moved slowly in and out, then faster, till his body exploded in its climax and his mind showed him stars and shooting lights and a bright, all encompassing sun. John was hard again, and came against his chest, their orgasms almost simultaneous. Afterwards they lay still. He was afraid to move, to break the spell. To return to normal life.

John spoke first.

'What time do you need to be home? Have you given Katie any idea?' And he was able to tell him that Theo was at Katie's. That they had all night. And saw his lover's face light up before it was buried on his chest.

They made love again before they slept. He'd forgotten how good it felt to sleep tangled in someone else's arms and legs. Forgotten the sheer joy of belonging. He slept well.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the morning they woke still in each other's arms. Kissed. Fucked. Slowly and sensuously, without the haste or white heat of the night before. Showered together and took orange juice and coffee into the comfortable lounge, sitting close and content. Touching without thought, natural and calm.

'I have to . . .. Katie will want . . . she'll wonder . . .. If she phones the apartment . . .' He was amused to realise he still couldn't form full sentences. 'But I need to see . . .I want . . .' He just had to hope John understood. He seemed to. He kissed him firmly.

'You know where I am. You know how welcome you are. You know how happy you've made me.'

Andy got up and walked to the door then turned back for another kiss. He held John's shoulders and looked into his eyes while his brain rehearsed the sentence he wanted. Subject. Verb. Object. Hopefully no full stop.

'I love you,' he said, and registered John's sudden delight before opening the door and running downstairs carefree as a child. Out in the street, heading for the metro and Katie and Theo, he was jaunty, smiling inside, at peace with himself at last.

Finis.


End file.
